


widely regarded as a bad move

by girlguidejones



Series: state of readiness [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Pack Bonding, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlguidejones/pseuds/girlguidejones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek knows Stiles is up to something.  He can feel it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	widely regarded as a bad move

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place between [coalescence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/848813) and [boys will gladly go to war for you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/960394). After reading [boys will gladly go to war for you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/960394), [poisontaster](http://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster) idly wondered how Stiles was able to convince Derek to let him have the alpha-juice for his weapons. 
> 
> Now she knows, and so do you!

"Hey," Isaac says, shuffling over to the cereal box and digging out a bowl from the cupboard. Derek just raises his spoon in response. It's early. He eyes the bowl Isaac picks and quirks an amused brow.

"You know that’s for serving mashed potatoes to the entire family or something, right?" 

Isaac flushes, but empties the rest of the box of cereal—easily half full—into it without hesitation and drowns it in about a quart of milk. Derek stifles a complaint; he'd been thinking about a second bowl himself. Isaac has gained an inch and put on ten pounds, easy, in the last month, all of it muscle. He's gotten bigger and heavier than Derek, which has made things interesting at training sessions. If Isaac keeps going at this rate he's going to outweigh Boyd any day now. 

"I'm really hungry," is all Isaac says by way of apology, shrugging. Even though there are five stools to choose from and an entire kitchen table, Isaac slots himself in on the seat next to Derek's. Their shoulders rub, and Derek feels a happy little tremor go through Isaac. Finishing his last bite, Derek pushes his bowl away and rotates his stool in Isaac's direction, dragging the mixing bowl a few inches toward him so he can share the rest of the cereal. Isaac rotates too, toward Derek, and Derek can feel the contentment radiating off of him as they bump knees and clack spoons.

He feels his wolf inside, metaphorically turning in circles and plopping down, pleased and a little smug at having made his beta feel safe and welcomed and happy. Derek's always torn at moments like this, knowing that as the Alpha he has a right to be proud when his pack is secure. But he also feels guilty, worrying if he takes too much pleasure _(credit)_ in a happy pack, as if fate might fault him for it and deal him something ugly as payment for his hubris.

He doesn't have long to feel conflicted, because at that moment Stiles sweeps into the kitchen, casually heading over to the coffee pot. _Too_ casually. Derek narrows his eyes, skewering his gaze between Stiles' shoulders. He knows Stiles can feel it, but the little fucker is getting good at ignoring it when it suits him. 

Derek can feel Isaac tensing up beside him, already wondering what's wrong. He feels guilty—thinks about how many times Isaac has been in this situation, waiting for the power-wielder in the family to lash out suddenly for unexplained reasons. 

Derek forces himself to relax, letting out a little rumble and jaw-butting Isaac's shoulder, who settles right away, looking up under his lashes and smiling tentatively. _Everything's okay, right?_ the look says, and Derek smiles back. Scent-marking isn't something he does a lot ( _enough_ , Stiles often says critically, Derek doesn't do it _enough_.) It's still foreign to him that there are people (well, people who aren't Stiles) that want him to touch them. Who need it, even. He tries to remember what it was like with his mom…

"So, Derek, I was thinking—" Stiles begins. There is no combination of words in the English language that is more frightening that those five in that order, as far as Derek is concerned.

"No," he replies quickly, keeping his head down and filling his mouth with cereal, as if it would forestall the conversational powers of Stiles.

"But I just—"

"No." Derek can just glimpse Isaac out of the corner of his eye, eyes bright with curiosity and swinging back and forth between them. Derek resolutely refuses to look at Stiles. He's sneaky, sometimes, when he wants something, giving Derek a particular look or expression that he knows means something _else_ altogether and then Derek finds himself stopping for ice cream cones in the Camaro— _in August_ —or something equally ill-advised.

"You don't eve—" Stiles tries again, frustrated.

"Still going with no," Derek says, punctuating it with a noisy slurp of coffee. Stiles snatches his own mug up, promptly dribbles it down his shirt, and stomps off, mumbling some deeply discourteous things about his Alpha.

"What did he want?"

"I have no idea," Derek says, twirling his stool back toward a very bewildered beta. Isaac's staring at him in utter confusion.

"He didn't already say something before now?"

"Nope."

"Then how can you tell you want to say no?"

"I just know it's something I'm not going to like."

"How?" Isaac persists.

"It's…I don't know, exactly. He just gives something off and every time I get that particular vibe I end up saying yes and then deeply regretting it later."

"Is it a smell? I didn't smell anything?" He says it like a question, confusion morphing to curiosity now, because even though Isaac is no match for Derek in the scent and tracking department, he's got the next best nose in the pack. 

He's learning, sticking close by Derek in the woods, doing what Derek does even when he doesn't know why. Derek's wolf, especially, preens at the deferential attention Isaac gives him. Derek tries to suppress that feeling, because he knows it doesn't pay to get a big head about something that's dependent on a teenager's sling-shotting emotions. But it's nice, having someone look up to him for something.

Because of that, he tries these days to make his answers mean something when the pack wants to know, instead of just deflecting them like he used to do. So Derek ponders for a moment, trying to articulate something genuine, but _it's Stiles_ , so there simply isn't a good answer.

"Not exactly. More like a—a shimmer? Like heat coming off pavement?" he tries.

"You didn't even look at him. How can you see a shimmer?" Isaac is clearly skeptical, and completely unable to comprehend how hard it is to describe _anything_ to do with the inner thought processes of Stiles Stilinski.

"It's just a feeling, okay? I don't know how to define it!" Derek protests. "Besides, I don't really want to," he finishes grudgingly.

"Why not?" 

"Because as soon as I figure out a way to describe what it is, he'll use that to figure out a way to cover it up. And then I'll be defenseless again," Derek grumps.

Isaac snorfles into their generic frosted mini-wheats. Which do _not_ taste the same, regardless of what Stiles and his fascist grocery budget have to say about it.

"Um, dude, you do remember _you're_ the Alpha, right?"

"When it comes to Stiles and his hare-brained ideas, there _is_ no Alpha," Derek replies grimly.

"True," Isaac admits, bobbing his head soberly as he crunches. "Very true."

_______

"Stiles."

"Hmmm? Yeah babe?"

"Why are you collecting my come in Tupperware?" Derek watches, wide-eyed, while Stiles scrapes the edges of one of those tiny cups—the miniscule kind that holds maybe a scant quarter-cup of frozen vegetables—up and down his own belly and across his hipbones, where Derek has just finished possessively striping him with his spunk. Derek always wondered why they bothered making a teensy little container like that. What kind of person is going to save thirty-seven peas, anyway? Or one egg yolk? Now he knows. 

_Now he knows_. 

He'd been lying here admiring the deeper cuts Stiles is sporting in his abs these days, nostalgically recalling younger Stiles who wasn't quite so broad, or so defined. But now those grooves Derek likes to paint with his come are being put to some unknown and almost certainly misguided purpose. 

All Derek can think of is this is the first step in some sort of weird pregnancy spell.

"It'll stay fresher that way," Stiles says nonchalantly, like it makes perfect sense, like they've already had part of this conversation. Derek was pretty blissed out there for a minute in his post-orgasmic haze, but he's sure he'd have remembered discussing fresh semen. Stiles snaps the lid on  
it and carefully burps the air out, as if vacuum-sealing werewolf sperm the same way you do potato salad is a perfectly normal thing that everyone does on occasion.

"I'm sure that's true," he says carefully. His mind is whirling with a million versions of what to say next. The voices start yelling louder in his head when he watches Stiles walk over to the wine fridge in their master suite and stash the container inside.

_Stiles, we can't have a baby._

_We haven't even mated yet._

_You have a botany final next week._

_Your dad will cut me in half and bury me under the azaleas._

His wolf, however, is becoming _very_ interested in these proceedings, pacing and rumble-growling low and approvingly in Derek's head. Derek feels himself getting hard again, which is really unnecessary at the moment. If it were solely up to the wolf, Derek knows, he'd have taken Stiles—knotted him—when Stiles first claimed Derek and there would be a pup in the house already, biologically or magically or adoptively makes no difference to it. It just wants to see the next generation in place swiftly, to secure the pack's future.

Derek is just hoping to survive long enough for everyone to get a bachelor's.

He rearranges the sheets over his lap and hopes Stiles doesn't notice.

"Um. Is—is there something you want to talk about?"

Stiles leans one naked hip against the bureau and smiles at him, shark-like, with a predatory glance down at Derek's lap. _Goddammit._

"You sure talking's what you have in mind?" Derek flushes and shifts carefully, trying to find a more dignified position from which to have this conversation.

"That—that's not what goes in that fridge," he says, deflecting. He can hear the desperation in his own voice. Stiles is the only person Derek's ever met that can reduce him to stuttering, and when he gets to that point it's either because they are having amazing sex or an indicator that Derek's going to deeply regret something.

"There's been all kinds of things in this fridge. Peanut butter celery, sweet tea, raw liver that one time you got bit by that rugaru and had to eat every hour or else—" 

_"Stiles."_

"Yes, Imzadi?" Derek ignores the ridiculous endearment, swallowing dryly as Stiles proceeds to tiger-stalk up the bed and settle himself on Derek's thighs. It looks absurd, and it would kill a hard-on in any normal man, but Stiles' ridiculousness apparently has the opposite effect on Derek; he's like one of those rare people who get hyped up by Nyquil instead of knocked out. Since Stiles spends a big part of his life being ridiculous, Derek spends a lot of his being aroused at inappropriate moments.

Like now.

"We—we can't have a baby," Derek stutters again, looking carefully up at Stiles and settling his palms on Stiles' thighs. The wolf whines unhappily in his head.

"Oh, god," Stiles replies, stilling and gazing down at Derek in horror.

"I mean, we can talk about it," Derek says bravely, "for the future someday—" 

"No," Stiles interrupts. "No, no we can't. No babies, yes, yes to that part. No to the part where we have one. Or talk about it. Oh god, I'm such an idiot—"

Derek's face freezes in shock. His wolf quivers with sadness inside, itching to run away and hide. If Stiles wasn't perched on top of him, pinning Derek to the bed, he's pretty sure he'd already have fled the house. 

They hadn't talked about it, about marriage or kids or the future beyond Derek telling Stiles he needed time. Derek realizes now that he'd bundled certain assumptions in with Stiles' patient claim on him, his confidence that Derek was _it_ for him, forever and ever. Family and a house with their own children racing through it was subconsciously part of the package he'd envisioned.

Discovering that he's done that and then finding out he was wrong all at once is devastating. A sharp pinch to the inside of his thigh brings him back to the moment.

"Come back here," Stiles says firmly, staring down at him.

"I _am_ here. You're on top of me, I can't go anywhere." But, _oh_ , oh how he wants to.

"No, you're not. You're in a really crappy place right now and you don't belong there." Stiles leans down, kissing him gently, but all Derek can manage is to stare up at him. Stiles pulls back, but doesn't go far, stays leaning close and drops another tiny kiss under Derek's jaw the way he likes.

"I need to start over—" Stiles begins, but Derek cuts him off.

"No, you don't. There's nothing to explain—" 

"There is. You've got it all wrong—"

"I know, I get it. No kids, okay?" It hurts, a bone-deep ache, and he can't look Stiles in the eye. "You don't have to justify how you feel about it."

"Yes, _kids_ ," Stiles whispers, gripping Derek's shoulders, shaking him a little before moving up to cup his face. Derek's gaze snaps up; he feels the wolf inside stilling, frozen with cautious hope. "I want your wolf-babies, okay? Lots of them—a pack's worth. Running around, chewing on the furniture legs…" Derek huffs, fingers bracketing Stiles' hips, but Stiles rattles on, unperturbed, carding his hands through Derek's hair. "I hope they have your eyes, but not your eyebrows. A girl with your eyebrows is going to need a serious waxing regimen."

"Stiles—"

"Hush," Stiles says, tapping Derek's lips with a finger. "I want all the Hale babies. I do, okay? I—it's just gonna be awhile, is all I was trying to say. I'm only twenty! Nobody in their right mind would want me in charge of a kid right now. I can't even remember if I fed the fish today."

"Stiles—" Derek tries again, and stops, surprised when he's not actually interrupted. Stiles is smiling down at Derek with soft eyes, like he knows the wolf is leaping and prancing happily inside Derek, which the sneaky little bastard probably does, somehow. Derek wouldn't put it past him. Sometimes he feels like his wolf is secretly plotting with Stiles, the two of them executing a murky agenda, of which Derek won't be able to make out the details until it's too late.

"Later is good, yeah," Derek says, smiling quietly.

"I'm sorry I gave you the wrong idea. I didn't realize what you would think," Stiles apologizes.

"You're preserving my sperm in an air-tight, refrigerated package. What did you think I would think?"

Stiles pauses before answering. "I just thought I would distract you with amazing sex and maybe you'd forget to ask."

"That's it? That's your plan?" Derek says flatly, brow quirking.

"It's worked before!" Stiles replies defensively. Derek shifts to the side, dumping Stiles on the mattress beside him, but immediately pulls him close again, tangling their legs and nosing in the crook of Stiles' neck.

"So. What's with—?" Derek chin-points toward the wine refrigerator.

"Oh, that," Stiles smiles, looking sheepishly at Derek with all the charm he can muster, which is always a bad sign. "That's for the, uh, I mean, I was experimenting with…" he trails off.

"With?" Derek prompts. No way is he letting Stiles off the hook for this one. Not after the emotional rollercoaster he's just been on. He drapes an arm over Stiles' waist, fingers tracing from mole to mole at the base of his spine by memory alone.

"Weapons," Stiles answers succinctly, as if it clears everything up. Derek pulls back and stares blankly at him.

"Weapons," he answers, in the same tone.

"Yep. Non-lethal ones for the humans to use, but that don't rely on wolfsbane, so they're safe for the wolves to handle. Or, that can be combined with wolfsbane, to be more powerful, and delay healing. Shotgun shells, maybe arrow-tips for Allison. Simulate the bite of an Alpha by infusing the ammo with Alpha-juice." 

His hand stills on Stiles' back.

"And you thought using your Alpha's come without mentioning it to him was the best way to go?"

"It was either that or plan B." Derek remains silent, refusing to humor him. Stiles hums and fidgets against Derek, practically vibrating with anticipation, staring blatantly until Derek caves.

"Oh, _fine_ ," he grumbles. "What was plan B?"

"Me constructing a fake twelve-hour stake-out in the car and plying you with beverages until you had to piss in a bottle," Stiles says proudly, like it's not the craziest idea he's ever come up with. In all reality, their bar for crazy gets lower every day. It probably isn't. 

"This whole thing doesn't strike you as a little Doctor Moreau-ish?"

"Hey now! It wasn't like I was making a were-platypus or anything. Besides, I was going to ask for a blood sample or get you to spit in a cup, but you didn't give me a chance!" A light dawns for Derek.

"The other day, at breakfast?" he asks, and Stiles nods.

"Yeah, you completely shut me down without even listening. You practically forced me to resort to underhanded means."

"Well, I was right!" Derek says gruffly.

"How do you get that?"

"I shut you down because I could tell I would hate the idea, and I do," Derek answers.

"But you're not saying no," Stiles says slyly, doe-eyed, pressing closer and nuzzling into Derek's chest, blatantly scent-marking him as his sneaky fingers do interesting things to one of Derek's nipples. Derek growls but doesn't pull away. He's not even mad at Stiles; he's just annoyed with himself that he's that easy sometimes.

"Fine, but you are _not_ using that container. You can have some blood." Without warning he rolls them, Stiles ending up flat on his back with a satisfying squeak while Derek presses into him, arms bracketing Stiles' head. Derek looks down at him and grins.

"I've got better things to do with my come," he says, smirking, and kisses him. 

Derek makes it dirty, tongue-fucking deep into Stiles' mouth as he rolls his hips down into Stiles', wringing moans from him with tiny nips to the points of his shoulders. He can feel Stiles' hands scrabbling at his back, stroking down with trembling fingers, squeezing Derek's ass. The wolf inside him is retreating, secure and maybe a little smugly pleased after tonight's revelations.

"Are you—" Stiles gasps, "oh God, are you gonna sex me up again?" Derek grunts, licking into the divot behind Stiles's ear. "Isn't— _fuck_ —that reinforcing bad behavior?" Derek stops.

"Are you trying to talk me out of it?" he says, as Stiles's face rapidly transforms from blissed out to alarmed.

"What? No! Full speed ahead, here. All systems are go. Engag—" 

Derek shuts him up the most expedient way possible.

_______

"Stilinskis too," Derek mumbles some time later, deep from within the afterglow. His arm is stretched out, curved possessively across Stiles' hipbones, and his forehead is pressed against the damp skin at the base of Stiles' throat.

"Wha—?" Stiles groans. He shifts, but when Derek's arm twitches and snugs a bit tighter, low across his belly, he abandons any attempts to move.

"Stilinski babies too," Derek says, more firmly, propping up on an elbow so he can see Stiles's face. This is important. "Not just Hales." Stiles is staring at him, wide awake now and open-mouthed with that particular look that Derek _craves_ , the one that he'd do anything to keep earning. Derek continues.

"They'll have giant brains and long, clever fingers and adorable baby-sized moles on their tiny butts."

"They sound hideous." Stiles laughs, moving at last but only to press closer. "Like something Mulder would have grainy pictures of tacked to his wall."

"They'll be beautiful," Derek says, gazing at Stiles. Stiles puts a deliberately-placed hand over Derek's chest and lifts a sardonic brow.

"Oh yeah?"

Derek nods and smiles, heartbeat slow and strong and steady, without a flutter.

"Yeah."

**Author's Note:**

> In addition to summarizing Derek's overall opinion of Stiles' ideas, the title references Douglas Adams's "Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy". Which you've probably read and probably knew. But if you haven't, and you didn't, you should right away.


End file.
